Transformation
by An Old User
Summary: Jekyll & Hyde The first time Dr. Jekyll comsumes the HJ7, from two radically different pionts of view. One-shot


_This is my Christmas gift to Erica for all of her patience: the transformation from two violently different points of view._

It takes a skilled hand to decant liquid properly. It takes years of practice, due to the delicate nature of such an operation. No matter what the experiment is, one cannot spill or pour too much of a substance, or the final product will be contaminated. Yet when the result is beyond imagining, too wonderful for language to capture, concentration becomes difficult, if you'll pardon the chemist's pun.

Gooseflesh is rising on my arms. My laboratory is actually an operating theatre, built by the previous owner. It is far too costly to heat the entire room for the small area that I use, thus the only fire is the Bunsen burner, which stands before me, heating the beautiful liquid in the beaker.

It is red. A beautiful, deep hue, not unlike that which artists of modern times use to represent blood. It is really far too bright to be blood, I have seen enough to know that, yet the allure of the color is entrancing, and the symbolism of the HJ7 as life makes me giddy.

I am about to cure humankind. Let all clear their minds of what has been considered medicine previously. A cure for pox, or dysfunctions of the stomach. Medicine to help the mind is considered a miracle. It is nothing. I am about to cure the spirit. I have a cure for the maladies of the soul. This newly fused formula HJ7 will eradicate evil.

The HJ7 shifts colors, quickly deepening to violet. I put out the flame on the burner. The heat was a catalyst for that chemical reaction. Once the mixture cools, one more component is all that the HJ7 lacks.

The sought for ingredient was simple sodium chloride. I spent a year on one blasted part, only to discover that it had been under my nose the entire time. Perhaps if I look down more, instead of always gazing up into the clouds, I'd find things sooner. Ha! Obviously, it wasn't easy procuring the salt. It needs to be pure. The local shops had to order it, and the price was appalling.

Here I stand, three o'clock in the morning…no…closer to the hour of four…so late I am up early, one of my best shirts a martyr to the night's experimentation, I am chilled to the bone, and my body cries out from fatigue and hunger. Yet fastened securely upon my face is what must be, without a doubt, the most idiotic grin in all of England. It would even give the Americans competition. I laugh at the thought. As if in preparation for the formula, all my ill thoughts have left my head. I am left with a jovial happiness. This shall be the culmination of all my work. Seven years of "obsession" and sleepless nights of unspoken torment shall bring forth fruit. They mocked and scorned. 'They' are St. Jude. 'They' are my unworthy peers. 'They' are about to discover how absolutely incorrect they are.

I measured the salt over an hour ago. It has been sitting there, waiting for its time to be useful. It has been waiting as I have, for the chance to make a difference. I pick it up, and add it to the HJ7.

Please, please Lord, I pray, please let this be correct. Please God, let my work not be in vain.

One final color change. The violet melts away to a watery green, like the colored glass of cathedral windows. It glitters.

I've done it. I cry, happiness pervading my every cell. I'VE DONE IT! Shaking, I grasp the beaker, re-warmed by the chemical change. I measure out ten centiliters, the dosage I spent six months formulating.

This is it. I had imagined that I would now hand the cup to another, or perhaps be forced to inject it if the patient was too sick, but I find that it is my turn. My risk. I would like to state that I am savoring the moment. The fact of the matter is that in spite of all my anticipation, I have misgivings. Nevertheless, the shining promise of glory is still calling alongside the picture of a perfect world. Only I can do this.

I drink.

_At approximately 3:58 am, I consumed ten centiliters of the HJ7._

It was hard to swallow. I felt rather like a child again, forced to drink castor oil. My mental resolve had to make up for my physical unwillingness.

_Salty, bitter taste._

Quite abhorrent. The large quantity of the sodium chloride, no doubt. Some of it does not react in the process.

_Stings the tongue._

Rather like lemon juice to a cut.

_Warm in the gullet._

Like alcohol. I am not a drinking man. A glass of port or cognac is all I can stand. When I was younger, Lanyon duped me into drinking an entire bottle of whisky.

I cannot emphasize what a horrendous idea that was.

The only thing left to do is to wait. I should like to get some sleep, but I do not have the time for that. The formula should take effect in a matter of minutes, but as anyone who tests anything for a first time knows, there will be surprises. I need to clear my mind and remember everything I can. I take a deep breath and quiet my thoughts. I concentrate on the slight stomachache and trying to track the path the formula will take into my bloodstream. It is of vital importance that I-

(Dear god)

"AAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!"

I double over, clutching my stomach. The pain has grown suddenly, exponentially. I can feel it spread to my bones, filling the marrow, stabling outwards and slicing through the veins in my wrists and ankles… My teeth gnash in response to the pain in my head, a piercing throb, burning behind my eyes and in my ears.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…"

The pain forces its way out of my mouth in an uncontrolled scream. My mouth is opened as wide as possible. I barely feel the tears streaming down my face, their gentle cool offering no comfort against the burning, tearing

(please god please make it stop i don't care how)

"…aaaaahhhhhhhhhh…"

I run out of breath, and find myself unable to take more. I fall to the floor. Spasms rack my body, and I twitch uncontrollably. My heart is racing, but I still cannot breathe. I am going to die. I don't know what went wrong, but something must have…

(just let me die)

The lack of oxygen takes its toll. Moreover, the pain is fading as I fade. I fancy I hear another voice, dim, speaking in pictures and abstract feelings. Order pulls them together into one concept, a word, which somehow busts from my mouth with the same power as my earlier scream…

Light. First thing. First anything. First thing that I see, notice, feel, perhaps even hear. Light.

Pain comes next. Pain hurts very much. Someone screaming. Me? I do not want to cower against this pain. I want to fight. I fight against whatever has hold of my body. It is not difficult to fight him off.

(Let go you fking bugger)

He dies along with the pain. Back to the weakness from whence I emerged. A voice without power, he is merely an observer. Left to lie in his frailty, without power. The power is mine.

The light comes together. The light is sharper now. I can distinguish shapes and objects. My mind races, telling me what use each object has. I clench and relax my hand. I look at my hand. My hand is not what my hand is supposed to be. My hand is large, hairy, brutish. More power. This is better than it was before. I do not need what the other hand had. I do not need propriety. All the inner bindings that have kept me in thrall, contained my whims, they have dissipated with the pain. With that frail little voice in the back. How could such a weak little thing ever contain me? Contain the power that is me?

There are no boundaries. That is why I am different. Nothing to contain what I can and cannot do. Why are the boundaries gone? I see a beaker, and papers. Messy papers. An experiment. Very important. The past is not what matters though. Now is what matters. That is the underlying rush of blood, the wind in my heart. Laws do not apply to me anymore. Did they ever? Why have I wasted my life in such dreary tasks? There is a city out there; filled with wonders I have never seen. Never seen, felt, heard, smelled, tasted, known. Oh, I want nothing more than the immediate experience of such great things. Now is when I can explore this new sense of being, this new, beautiful life. This sense of freedom. That is what I feel. That is the word that describes my sweet new sensation of life, the wonder of being twice as alive and tenfold more wicked. It delights and intoxicates me like wine. This little word embodying all that I feel. I am free. Free.

"FREE!"

_Written whilst listening to the two disc set of Jekyll and Hyde: The Gothic Musical Thriller, the 1995 version. Worship Frank Wildhorn!_


End file.
